The False Nurse
by Valentaku
Summary: Teenage witch Brenda Ralish and her familiar, Billy Couture, assist a young brother/sister hunter duo in solving a case in which mothers and their infants have been turning up dead in their locked homes.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, so I presume no one is going to read this, since NO ONE likes to read about someone else's O.C.**

**However, this is my baby, and if do read it, PLEASE review, to say anything good or bad. PLEASE. This was jump started when I watched the episode "Man's Best Friend with Benefits". It takes place in Michigan. If you know anything about Scottish folklore, you wont be surprised by this story, or the title. If you DON'T know Scottish folklore, then you are in for a creepy-ass treat.**

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1.

Billy Couture entered the Goldfish Tearoom. The room was always hideously crowded on Friday night; open mike night; teeming with talentless teenagers who paraded their so called music in a desperate attempt to squeeze droplets of attention into open, starving mouths. The room stunk of self-doubt and false modesty. He crinkled his nose at the stink, and took a place in line at the counter in the front of the store. Someone in line with him remarked that the song that had just finished playing had been "magical". He chuckled softly. They had never seen or heard _anything_ magical. He was appropriately dressed for his surroundings, in a grey undershirt, large scarf, grey cargo pants and black tuxedo vest. Everything from his smile to his posture suggested contentment with his surroundings, save for the rhythmic tapping of his right foot. If anyone there had known him, they'd recognize it as a sign that he was fed up already with the noise, with the crowd, with the wait-

"How can I help you, man?" the man behind the counter asked. Billy looked up into the eyes of an art school dropout in a pair of thick rimmed black glasses.

"A pot of Scarlet Robe Oolong. Two cups, if you _would_ be so kind." He said, allowing his voice to portray his frustration. The wannabe barista didn't seem to notice the curt tones he was being addressed in, and began to busy himself scooping tea leaves into a bamboo filter.

"Yeah man, like, great choice. I love that one." He said. Billy had to actively not cover his nose at the stink of patchouli and marijuana that rose from the buffoon when he spoke.

"No- not the glass. The stoneware pot will do, thank you." Billy said when the skinny-jeaned servicemen began to put the filter into a glass pot.

"Whatever you say, man." He said, putting his hands up and reaching high on the shelves behind him to get a cobalt clay pot. Billy fought the urge to correct him. "Man" was something he only was part of the time. "That'll be-"

Billy cut him off, making eye contact and hooking a small cloth bundle onto a splinter under the counter. The man's eyes glazed over, and Billy reached into his pocket and mimed pulling out money from his wallet. He handed the nonexistent money to the cashier, who took it and mimed putting it in the register before his eyes came back into focus. He handed Billy the bamboo tray.

"Enjoy, man." He said. Billy smiled at how Brenda would react. He had the money to pay, but it was so much more fun to charm. Besides, weren't his people supposed to be ornery and capricious instinctively? Brenda would be furious about his flaunt of magic, but that was the point of the little stunt, really. She was so funny when she was mad. He maneuvered his way through a crowd of pretenders to the back of the tea house, where Brenda was sitting alone in a large booth in the far corner. He cocked a head. Brenda was utilitarian to a fault. If she'd taken so much space, she was expecting visitors. She hadn't told him about that. He set down the tray on the low table, and sunk uncomfortably into a wicker couch covered in beaded pillows. He hoped pretention wasn't catching.

"Took your time, Billy."

"_Exactly _on time, Brenda. Nice place, by the way."

"Thank you. I picked it out with you in mind- it seemed like your kind of place."

"Cold. I did get my hopes up when I heard the name, however- I was under the impression there would be free snacks."

"Really now?"

"Yes." Billy said. "But you would know that already, wouldn't you? If you hadn't, I don't know, severed out link about fifteen minutes ago? But you wouldn't do that, Brenda, would you?" he asked, gazing at her through green eyes. She sat staring at the tea.

"What's wrong, Brenda. Cat got your tongue?" he asked. She shot him, daggers with her eyes.

"Clever. I'll reestablish the link in a few minutes. I just didn't want you knowing who we were meeting with tonight." She said, looking away from him. He lounged back in the creaking wicker seat.

"What would you want to hide from little old me?" he asked her. She shook her head.

"I should have brought you here as a cat. You're quieter that way. This place seems hip, I don't think anyone would mind a mangy gray tom hanging out of my handbag." She said. He raised his eyebrows.

"That sounds like innuendo. Was that innuendo?" he asked. The timer for their tea leaves began to beep irritatingly, so he silenced it with a glance. Brenda slapped his hand.

"Do you have any idea who we're meeting tonight?" she asked in a whisper. A hex bag fell onto the tray between them.

"Fiona and Robert Grace?" asked a voice. They looked up, at the two people before them. Both around seventeen like them, A boy about six feet tall in a black leather jacket and pink shirt with skinny jeans and a girl about five foot nothing in a tiny backless dress with a floral print and flaring knee length skirt. Billy stage whispered.

"You left the tags in. Did you _really_ go to urban outfitters just to have a costume for an open mike night?" he asked. The boy balled his fists, and Brenda took Billy's hand in hers, reestablishing their telepathic link. He saw who these two were first. "Hunters? _Really?"_ he asked, putting his head in his hands.

"Yeeeah. So, can we have the money to pay that poor stiff you hexed back there?" he asked, gesturing to the hex bag on the table. Groaning, Billy dug out his wallet and pulled out a ten.

"Keep the change for your troubles, hon. Ad sit by me when you get back." He said, winking with green cat's eyes. Robert scowled and stalked off. Fiona sat down next to Brenda, leaving a seat open next to Billy. Brenda eyed Fiona's outfit.

"Billy made a good point. What's with the hipster garb?" she asked. Fiona shrugged.

"We had a brush in with two hunters from Kansas about a year back when we first started hunting, and the younger one had a thing about costumes. Robert has this huge man crush on him, so we picked up the habit." She said. Brenda whistled. Billy remained unimpressed. "Come on, Catman. It's not like you didn't wear camouflage tonight too. At least, I hope that's not your normal look." She chided. Billy looked sheepishly at the floor.

"Don't call me that. It makes me sound like some sort of emotionally volatile and self-centered superhero. I'm really just emotionally volatile and self-centered." He said, pouting. Brenda laughed, and winked.

"I'll bear that in mind." She said. Robert returned, scowling at least as hard as he had been when he left. Billy had flirted with him on principle, but getting a good look at him, he realized that the boy was actually kind of cute. For a hunter.

"I'm not sitting next to Pussy Galore here." He said. Billy smiled sarcastically.

"I'm not going to bite you, hon. Not yet at least." He said. Robert shuddered.

"No Thank you. Fiona, switch?" he asked. Fiona curled her feet up under herself, her knees pressed carefully together in her short skirt, and shook her head innocently.

"You're the worst sister ever, you know that?" Robert griped, before rigidly seating himself next to Billy. Billy decided to have the decency to leave him some personal space, but was delighted at the other boy's rigid, homophobic discomfort. The alarm on their trey went off, signaling that it had finished steeping, and Brenda poured herself a cup of tea.

"Alright. You contacted us. What do you need?" she asked.

"_You answered a _**hunter's**_ call for help?" _Billy shot at her telepathically. Not changing her expression, Brenda responded.

"_Of course I did. I'm not a monster."_

"_Aren't you?"_

Fiona was talking.

"We were working a case that we thought was some kind of demon activity; babies and their mothers were showing up dead, always after the man of the house was out on business.

"When we got to the first crime scene, we realized that the infants had been exsanguinated. So, we naturally went to Vampires." Fiona explained. Robert interrupted her, growing less indolent when the topic shifted to something he was comfortable with.

"But we couldn't find any vampires in the areas that were being hit. And there was a pattern; a few in one town, and then it moved to the next. We think it might be black magic- you know, a ritual or something? So my genius sister decided to contact a witch." He said. Brenda nodded.

"I didn't think you would agree to help them, Billy, so I called them here without telling you." She said. Billy nodded.

"Right. Well, I don't see how we can help." Billy said. He felt something strangely familiar when he heard about this case, and he wanted out. He began to walk away.

"Billy, get back here right now!" Brenda barked. Shit, she was using their bond to tether him. Dam her!

"Fine. Let's talk about child mutilation." He said in a perfectly audible voice. A few people glared, but fortunately, due to the nature of the café, they let it slide as "Edgy". Brenda smiled.

"That's more like it!"

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**PLEASE review, and if you actually took the time to read this, god bless.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heeeey! If your reading this, you are cool or bored enough to be reading an OC story, so, thanks for choosing mine? This one is mostly about Billy's past, a lot of exposition. We'll get back to the case next chapter.**

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2.

The two hunters hadn't brought their notes, and they agreed to meet the next morning at the hotel room the siblings were staying in. When they told them where they were at, Billy raised an eyebrow.

"Neither of you look remotely eighteen. How'd you get the room?" he asked. Robert crossed his arms.

"Unlike witches, Hunters look out for each other. We got Bobby Singer to get the room for us online as out legal guardian." He said. Billy shook his head.

"Never really thought of hunters as a community, actually. Maybe it's because of the number of them I've seen kill each other in drunken brawls, or the fact that"- Brenda cut him off.

"Tomorrow at nine?" she asked. Robert's scowl was probably permanent at this point. Fiona nodded.

"See you then." She said apologetically, dragging Robert out of the room by the arm. Brenda turned towards Billy.

"Aren't I a riot?" he asked. She shook her head in disgust.

"I'm going home." She sighed, stalking off. Billy called after her.

"Can I crash at your place?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Absoultly not." She smiled. Billy shivered, the hair on the back of his neck standing up in a facsimile of his angry cat form pose.

"Fine. I'll sleep in the sewer." He said. She didn't look back.

"You do that." Brenda called back as she walked from the building. Billy sat down and finished his tea.

Billy actually had an apartment, a little one bedroom deal in a neighboring semi-suburban city. He pulled off his clothes before he'd even gotten past the entryway, slamming the door with telekinesis. No reason to give the old lady across the hall a show. He felt far more comfortable naked; he'd never been able to get used to clothes. The apartment was a gift from his last life; he was currently on his fourth. The first two had been about fifty years each, and the third, thanks to modern medicine, had gotten him to nearly eighty. He had quietly purchased the apartment building in his last life, and near the end had left the building to his closest living relative; despite the fact that his lawyer had told him that the idea was a bad one, as he had no living relatives. However, before he died, he adopted a sixteen year old ward of the state who was eight months pregnant. His scrying had told him that the girl was pregnant with his next bodey, and he befriended the girl. He confided in her on his death bed what the child she was carrying was, and she naturally thought he was a crazy old man.

When the baby was born, she had decided to follow the wishes of the old man who had died and name him Billy Couture; a play on the Punjabi word for cat, "Bili", and the Icelandic, "Cattoure". She believed that the old man was harmlessly crazy, and was grateful that he had left her ownership of the apartment building. The affairs of the estate where to be taken care of by his lawyers until she turned eighteen, and she was given the opportunity to attend a prestigious private school in the area, which she gracefully declined.

Her opinion of the strange old man who had adopted her was changed from sweet and senile to sweet and supernatural when baby Billy started talking at six months, and could cite memories that only the man that she knew would know. It was a shock, realizing that her infant son was a cat, a witch, and technically her adopted father, but she had dealt with much, much worse as a ward of the state. She did her best with him; never got too frightened of his unsettling behavior and magical rituals. Respecting his privacy as a three-time adult, she even gave him a separate apartment from hers when he turned sixteen and could legally be emancipated.

She still owned the building, but the two didn't see each other very often. Billy flopped naked onto his couch, and flipped on the T.V. He didn't want to think about his mother. There was so much guilt from his last two lives, having to _fake_ a childhood for some poor couple who thought that they were raising their own child… he had thought that it would be better if her told his mortal parent outright this time. God, it was so much worse. He felt he had robbed her completely of- he cut himself off. It wasn't unusual for cats like him to get low after a couple of lives, and multiple suicides in a nine-life cycle were not unheard of. He needed to think of something else.

This body was sixteen now. The first time he'd been sixteen… eighteen fifty. Eighteen fifty and twenty fourteen were two very different years. Back then, if someone had told him that his witch would be helping a couple of hunters, he'd have probably laughed at them. Or killed them. He had mellowed out quite a bit since his original adolescence.

He had been living in Boston in the 1800's, an Irish boy, not yet learned of witchcraft. He was the son of god-knows-who, raised in a church orphanage by a group of tired, overworked nuns who were, to their credit, saints. The most prominent in his memory was Sister Abigail O'Morrisy. She was an Irish catholic, raised in Boston. She was probably a worn thirty five year old, but she had seemed to a young Billy to be at least fifty. She had large, calloused hands, a stiffly folded habit, and a ruler which she used more as a threat than a weapon. In those days, the Boston accent was still establishing itself, and since her parents had been immigrants, she had a heavy _Irish_ accent. Sister Abby was a mannish woman in many regards, with a gruff voice, broad shoulders, and a square jaw, but she kept the boys at the orphanage in line, and was kind and understanding.

Billy remembered once asking her about his name, his first name. The one he had been given at the orphanage.

"Zaccheus" She had smiled, and not looked up from the baby she was changing. "Now, Zack, you haven't been to reading your bible much, have you? You know Zaccheus. Father Antony read about him just last week at mass." She said. Billy had been about six at the time. He had been daydreaming in mass for the past few Sundays, and Sister Abby had just called him out on it. She clucked her tongue.

"Don't feel to guilty, son. It's not the devil for you yet. Zaccheus was a tax collector- a right sinful man, he was! And he so wanted to see Christ, that he climbed way up on a tree to see him. Only, the Lord didn't want him up in a tree!" she said, putting the little boy she had been changing down on the ground to toddle away.

"So the good Lord, he invited himself over to old Zaccheus's house for supper, and they eat a fine meal, and oh, Lord, did people talk." She said, busying herself with her next task. Billy had frowned he didn't think he understood that story.

Lying on his couch in his apartment, too low to move, he thought about it. He felt a little like Zaccheus- climbing trees to try to see redemption. Except he'd fallen from the tree and broken his neck. And Christ was laughing.

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**You are the literal Bae if you've read this far. I feel like i got a little clumsy with the exposition, but i'm not good enough to introduce important themes any other way. **


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